His Catherine
by smacked lover 22
Summary: Alternative ending to episode 1x14. "In the morning they would go back to being the King and Queen of France, the greatest lover in Europe and the Italian woman as they were hailed but for just that night they had been themselves again he Henry and she Catherine, and though it was one of the best kept secrets in France he loved his Catherine."


"This was my favorite gown" she wined glancing towards her bloodstained skirts. The crimson satin of her dress baring deep red stains a token of their shared secret.

"Add it to the list of things I owe you" he answered only half in jest for if he were being truthful he owed everything to her, for all the times he had cursed her Medici blood her clever plotting had saved him his crown and his dignity on many occasions, even his life once or twice.

The darkness hid her smirk but he could almost see her gloating face, after twenty six years of marriage he knew all too well what she looked like when she believed she had won even the smallest victory caused her eyes to gleam with triumph, her black orbs so filled with arrogance yet in her haughtiness, in her insufferable pride he had never wanted her more.

"Come to my rooms" she ordered and for a moment he felt his jaw drop.

"Our clothes must be burned" she continued "you shall undress in my rooms, leave anything which is stained on the floor and Nostradamus will deal with it in the morning."

"I said no servants" he snapped.

"But surely…"

"No servants Catherine" he ordered his tone authoritative but of course his wife, his fearless brazen wife never resisted the opportunity to challenge him.

"So then you can burn them" she taunted "tell me your majesty do you know how to light a fire and it must be done in the woods and I know how you would hate to scuff your precious boots."

"Fine" he snapped "Nostradamus but no one else. Are you trying to get us caught?"

"Henry relax" she ordered the sound of his Christian name falling so easily from her lips comforted him in a strange way "you act as if this is my first time cleaning up your mess. Do you really think one woman's death is a problem for me I am a Medici I could murder all of France and get away with it? It is my talent."

"No wife" he spat "if there is one thing I will never doubt it is your ability to cover up a crime."

"Good then" she replied "we are I agreement on something come now let us not wake the entire castle with our foolish quarreling."

He opened his mouth in protest but promptly shut it nothing good ever came from arguing with Catherine and his fragile nerves could not tolerate a moment more of her witticism.

"You majesty" one of her guards said sweeping into a polite bow as they reached her chambers "y-your majesty" he stammered upon seeing the king.

"Well are you going to stand there stammering all night or are you going to let us in" she snapped "I don't pay you to look at me boy."

"I apologize majesty" he mumbled his trembling hands fumbling under her harsh gaze.

"The king in the queen's apartments" she raged "what a novice idea. How absolutely fascinating, the king in the queen's apartments."

"Catherine" he hissed in a warning tone as the guard unlocked the door and stepped aside admitting them to her chambers.

"Fools" she hissed "I am surrounded by fools."

He rolled his eyes but remained silent as she led him through the darkness of her living chambers and down the hallway towards her bedroom.

The queen's apartments were decorated in lavish shades of red satin. She always loved red the color of fire, the color of blood, the color of passion. His wife always had been a passionate woman from her convictions in Nostradamus's prophecies to her fierce and overpowering love for their children and even her passionate love for him though that had been a lifetime ago. The cold king and the proud queen certainly were not the same naive children who had once shared such a fiery bond, if love remained between the two of them it was cold and distant a sort of unspoken bond, he swore up and down the court he did not love her yet he found himself in her apartments at two in the morning discarding of bloodstained clothes, evidence of his sin. If he did not love Catherine he trusted her, with his country with his crown, with his life.

"The bathing area is to your right" she instructed and he a small involuntary smirk graced his lips.

"I know that Catherine" he chided a hint of playfulness in his voice "it has not been that long."

"Very well than" came her callous reply "get on with it."

Bidding her commands he disappeared into her bathing rooms and discarded his blood stained clothes. Removing his navy doublet he tossed it to the floor, his hose were slightly torn but he hadn't anything to change into so he left them on along with his blousy cotton shirt. He found himself studying the dimly lit room, her grand tub surrounded by unlit candles and her shelves stocked with her potions, face cream made from supposed magic and her naturally crafted shampoos all made by her faithful Nostradamus. He remembered how she used to burn her skin crafting her own potions, the woman was sick with her own vanity but he would never chide her for it, for she was the only one who knew his own grey's were concealed with carefully applied shoe shiner. God they were getting old.

He left his clothes lying on the floor in a heap to be dealt with in the morning.

"All done" he called stepping into her bedchamber "they shall be burned in the morning and I can be rid of the duchess and you can be rid of me."

He was greeted by silence which surprised him it was unlike his wife to pass up any opportunity to insult him. He gingerly approached her bed to find Catherine in a light slumber; her blonde curls had worked their way out of their up do and lay softly framing her pale face. As gingerly as possible he took a lock of her silky hair twirling it between his fingers, marveling at the color he always said she had the most extraordinarily colored hair he had ever seen. Blonde so deep it appeared the color of honey with the slightest trace of auburn in it. Their eldest son had inherited her looks while their daughter Elizabeth favored him and the two younger boys resembled their paternal grandparents. He grimaced and despite himself wondered what her eldest daughter looked like, had she inherited Catherine's beauty or did she favor Richard. With the thought his fists clenched and he gave Catherine's hair an involuntary tug causing her to stir slightly but not breaking her slumber. He released her hair admiring the way it fell across her pale face and half heartedly wished she would wear it down more often like she had in her youth but he supposed it wouldn't make a difference the damage had been done and this time Catherine's beautiful hair was not going to be enough to save them. He gently reached behind her his hand brushing against the soft warmth of her bear flesh and removed the ruby clip from her hair to spare her the pain of an achy neck when she awoke.

He placed the jeweled piece on her nightstand and despite himself reached forward his fingers lightly caressing her porcelain cheek. The youthful flush of her beauty may have faded but she was beautiful none the less. Her skin was smooth and her hair flawless it was the worry permanently etched into face which made her look every bit her forty years. He wondered what exactly had turned her cold. Life had not been kind to her, her parents both died within a week of her birth though she never spoke of them and he never asked, than there had been the emperors' soldiers he knew they had done things to her unspeakable things but she never spoke of it and he never asked. If he could have gone back to the days of their innocent youth he would have made sure to ask but he was a king not a miracle worker and even he did not have the luxury to turn back the time.

"Goodnight" he whispered pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek his lips barely daring to brush against her flesh as if he harbored some hidden fear he was unworthy of the privilege of kissing her. He pulled back taking great care not to wake her he was enjoying the vulnerability of her at peace with the world dreaming of something apparently pleasant for she had the smallest smile on her stony face and he preferred peaceful vulnerable Catherine to witty insulting Catherine.

He rose and exited the room without as much as a glance towards his sleeping wife. The next day he would go back to being the king proud and lusty and she the queen cold and unfeeling he would have his woman Diane his longtime mistress, and despite her greed an enjoyable companion and the Lady Kenna his youthful flame so young, so absorbed in her own vanity. Catherine would wake up to see how tenderly he had removed her hair clip and smile despite herself, she would be more irritable than usual snap at a maid and frighten a serving girl, she would glare at the ruby clip and wonder why he could only bring himself to kiss her while she was sleeping, why were her lips so horribly unappealing when she was awake? But he was too stubborn to tell her and she too proud to ask so in the morning they would go back to being the King and Queen of France, the greatest lover in Europe and the Italian woman as they were hailed but for just that night they had been themselves again he Henry and she Catherine, and though it was one of the best kept secrets in France he loved his Catherine.


End file.
